


walkin' down my street

by cmc



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Introspection, M/M, emotionally constipated daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7561447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmc/pseuds/cmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesus is the prank master. Daryl doesn't get it, until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	walkin' down my street

**Author's Note:**

> Idk what this is guys. This ended up being way longer than I intended. These two have taken over my life and I hate everything.

Daryl wasn’t really used to being messed with.

He didn’t exactly have the type of personality that invited harmless practical jokes between friends. Carol once told him he looked intimidating to the casual onlooker – “you have the whole leather jacket, muscles, motorcycle vibe,” she had said, smirking, “but we both know that’s bullshit.” Daryl mostly didn’t actively try to be daunting, but he’s not exactly warm and friendly and talkative, either.

Daryl did, however, know what it was like to be a target. After Merle left and his mom was gone, before he learned how to fight, kids would single him out for being the poorest, for having dirty clothes, for never knowing the answers in classes he didn’t care about. They would make snide comments, laughing, some meaner than others. He was quiet, and before he hit his growth spurt he was on the short side. It helped when he gained a few inches and learned how to beat the shit out of someone, but he still remembered how it was. His growth spurt didn’t stop his dad.

This wasn’t that. What Jesus was doing doesn’t feel like that at all.

Ever since things quieted down, the war with The Saviors over and Negan locked safely in a cell in the basement, life in Alexandria had been calmer. Or, as calm as it could get at the end of the world with dead people walking around. ( _Or until the next threat arrives_ , the voice in the back of his head that sounded like Merle always added.) It reminded Daryl of life back at the prison, those few months before the Governor came back with his army. They go on supply runs, Daryl goes out recruiting with Aaron, they trade with the Hilltop and the Kingdom, kill the occasional group of walkers.

It’s… actually kind of boring.

Not that boring is bad. It’s a nice boring. They all get enough sleep now, usually, which is weird. Daryl doesn’t remember the last time he felt thirsty or hungry. Judith was flourishing in the relative normalcy, growing like a weed, and so was Glenn and Maggie’s new baby. Carl hit a growth spurt and was closing in on Rick in height. Daryl was glad for the monotony just for the kids, but it’s been good for all of them. Everyone looked less tired, everyone smiled a little bit more. Daryl just wasn’t expecting to suddenly have all of this down time.

Before the turn, when Daryl was bored, he would go to a bar with Merle, or ride his bike aimlessly around, or watch shit on TV. None of those were really options any more, so when he found himself with spare time now, mostly he just slept. Daryl felt about ten years behind on his sleep, so trying to catch up was his first priority. When he felt rested enough he’d go hunting, or help with the crops, or hang out with Carol, or work on his bike.

Sometimes, however, he found himself with a shit load of problems in his down time. His lighter kept going missing. Occasionally when he wanted to go hunting, he would reach for his crossbow only to find all the arrows were gone, and he’d search all over for them before he found them someplace random, like arranged in a smiley face on his back porch, or next to the peanut butter in the pantry, or tied together with string as a makeshift mobile hanging over little Hershel’s crib. One time he walked into his living room and felt like something was off, and he couldn’t figure out what it was until he realized all of his furniture had moved a foot to the right. Sometimes he'd go to the bathroom and find a stack of random books next to the toilet. The stack in there right now consisted of _Much Ado About Nothing, Confessions of a Tarnished Southern Belle_ , _Ninja Mind Control, How to Shit in the Woods,_ and a children’s picture book called _Jesus Loves Me_.

Daryl had no direct proof, but if he was dying of thirst he would bet his last sip of water that all of this was courtesy of Paul Rovia. Jesus moved to Alexandria after the war ended, invited by Rick and welcomed by the whole community. He lived across the street from Daryl (who had moved out of the Grimes’s house a while ago; he was happy for Rick and Michonne, really, but his room had been next to theirs, and there were some things he just couldn’t put up with, like listening to two of his best friends have morning sex), meaning he had easy access to Daryl’s house and could see his comings and goings. Daryl still hadn’t been able to catch him in the act, but he knew it was Jesus. He could tell by the stupid shit-eating grin Jesus was constantly throwing at him, and, well, who _else_ would it be?

Which brought Daryl back to his predicament. He wasn't used to being fucked with. Because that’s what this was – Jesus was fucking with him. Apparently, now that the war was over and he didn’t have anyone to roundhouse kick in the face, his main way to pass the time was annoying Daryl.

Daryl didn’t get it.

It didn’t feel malicious, or like Jesus was trying to pick a fight, which just confused Daryl further. If Jesus wanted someone to do stupid pranks with, or someone who actually found them amusing, there were plenty of better candidates in Alexandria – Tara, probably, or Glenn. Whenever Daryl found all of his shoes sporting bright yellow laces, or turned on a car and the CD player blasted at full volume leaving him deaf for a second, Daryl just grumbled and rolled his eyes, but that’s mostly it. He’d shoot Jesus a glare the next time he saw him, huff if Jesus tried to engage him in conversation for a few days after, but that just seemed to egg Jesus on. Jesus will just smirk at him and probably start mentally planning his next attack, maybe something like drawing hearts on Daryl’s crossbow, the bastard. Daryl started locking it in his closet when he’s not using it.

“He’s just having fun,” Carol said one day, as she sat on the bench on his porch and he glared at the pack of cigarettes in his hand. He couldn’t light one because his lighter was missing _again_ , which only made him crave a cigarette more. Daryl patted down his pockets again just to make sure it really wasn’t there, but he came up empty.

“You know what? This is ridiculous,” Daryl said as he got up and hopped down off his porch, leaving Carol on the bench. He stomped across the street and banged on Jesus’s front door, but no one answered after a minute, so he circled around to the backyard to try the other door.

He found Jesus lounging on a bench on the back porch. His feet were kicked up and resting on the railing, and he had a small paperback open on his lap. He didn’t look up from his book, but apparently he heard Daryl coming.

“What’s up, Double D?” Jesus asked, and as Daryl climbed the porch steps he could see Jesus had his lighter in one hand and was flicking it lazily on and off.

“Don’t call me that,” Daryl snapped, and reached over to snatch his lighter out of Jesus’s hand. “Stop stealin’ my stuff,” he said once his lighter was safely in his pocket.

“Me? Stealing?” Jesus asked, his eyes wide and innocent as he looked up at Daryl.

“The reason we met is because you tried to steal a giant truck full of supplies, _twice_ , so don’t even start,” Daryl huffed, glaring down at him. “Just… cut it out, alright?” Daryl was usually fine with putting up with annoyances until they eventually stopped, and he had been planning on just dealing with it until Jesus got bored and moved his attention elsewhere. But, well, he was here, so he might as well. “It’s annoying,” he added.

“That was kinda the point,” Jesus said. Daryl stared. “No, I just _really_ thought your boots would look better with yellow laces.”

Daryl amped up his glare to eleven. “Just… stop takin’ my lighter, and puttin’ weird books in the bathroom, and, I don’t know, tellin’ everyone I listen to Madonna.”

Jesus looked gleeful. “Do you?”

Daryl grit his teeth and exhaled loudly through his nose. “ _No_.”

Jesus grinned. “Whatever you say, Daryl,” he chuckled, picking up his book again.

“So you’ll stop?” Daryl asked, slowly feeling like he had somehow lost control of this conversation along the way.

“We’ll see,” Jesus said as he turned a page.

Daryl rolled his eyes, and, feeling like that was as good an answer as he was going to get, turned to leave. As he walked back towards the steps he noticed one of the posts on the railing lining the porch was loose, making the handrail wobbly. He shook it a few times to test how unsteady it was.

“That’s been driving me crazy,” Jesus said as he watched Daryl bend down to put the post back in place. He hammered it a few times with his fist before straightening up and shaking the rail again, and it was sturdier now that it was fixed. He looked back at Jesus, who was still lounging on the bench with his feet propped up. He kicked the railing a few times with his foot, testing Daryl’s handiwork.

“Thanks,” Jesus said, smiling brightly.

“Yeah,” Daryl said, looking away, but then he remembered he was supposed to be pissed. “I mean _,_ no. No, you’re _not_ welcome,” Daryl barked, stalking away. He heard Jesus laughing behind him.

“Bye, Daryl,” he called as Daryl circled back around the house and went back to his own porch. He pulled out a cigarette and his lighter as he sat back down next to Carol.

“Looks like you were successful,” Carol said, eyeing him as he blew out a cloud of smoke.

Daryl grunted his affirmation. “Told him to knock it off,” he said.

“What did he say to that?” she asked.

“He said ‘we’ll see,’ whatever that means.”

“He didn’t look upset or anything?”

“What?” Daryl said, turning to face her. “Why would he be upset?”

“You just told him to leave you alone,” Carol said.

Daryl furrowed his brow, confused. “No, I told him to stop messin’ with me.”

Carol squinted over at him, her gaze assessing. “You do get _why_ he’s messing with you, right?”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Daryl asked. “He’s just bored.”

Carol pursed her lips, shaking her head. “Bless your heart.”

“Whatever,” Daryl grunted, standing up and walking over to where his crossbow was leaning against the rail. “I’ll be back later. Hopefully everyone will stop bein’ batshit by the time I get back,” he said, slinging his bow onto his back. 

“Get me some rabbits,” Carol called after him as he began to walk towards the front gate. “I’ll make some stew and then we can _talk_ ,” she added, sounding like she was containing laughter.

Daryl definitely wasn’t getting her any rabbits. As he walked by Jesus’s house he saw him through the front window, putting his book back on the bookshelf. He must have finished it. As he turned away from the shelf his face pointed in Daryl’s direction, and Daryl quickly looked away and hurried on towards the front gate.

 

 

 

The pranks stopped. Daryl didn’t actually expect him to give it up, but he did. For the next few weeks every time he came home he expected something weird to greet him when he opened the door, but his house was always the same as how he left it. As the days flew by, his suspicion only grew, believing that Jesus was only lulling him into a false sense of security before doing something ridiculous and over the top, but it never came. Every time he reached into his pocket, his lighter was there.

In the meantime, they fell into what he would probably categorize as polite friendship. They saw each other too often to be just acquaintances, but they still hadn’t bridged that gap to _family_ that Daryl felt with Rick and Carol and the others. Which made sense, because Jesus was a new addition to the group and it took a long, long time and many shared experiences for Daryl to feel the familial ties with the others that he did now. Sure, he fought a war with Jesus and his initial mistrust had been replaced with assurance in Jesus’s strength and reliability, but there was still a part of him that wanted to keep Jesus at arm’s length. He didn't know why, but he did. The others didn’t feel this way – Jesus was close with Maggie and Tara and Michonne, and he and Carl went through a few trials and tribulations together when they were dealing with the Saviors. Rick obviously considered Jesus one of them since he invited Jesus to move to Alexandria permanently, which was not a decision their leader made lightly. And it’s not like Daryl and Jesus hadn’t been through enough together to form that bond already. They had. They had fought side-by-side against the Saviors and back-to-back against herds of walkers and had gone on supply runs together. Jesus helped him escape from the Sanctuary. Daryl taught Jesus how to track. Jesus taught Daryl how to get free if he was tied up. They had been through enough shit together to be there already.

But Daryl still found himself holding back. Sure, when Jesus would make a wry comment Daryl would quip back, but then later Daryl would spend hours thinking about the exchange and how dumb he probably sounded and then he would end up avoiding Jesus for three days. Or like with the pranks – if it had been someone else behind them all, Daryl might have responded or at least told them to knock it off a lot sooner. But it was Jesus, and Jesus was giving him attention, and for some reason that simultaneously annoyed Daryl to no end while the thought of confronting him about it made him want to run away in the other direction. It wasn’t until Carol brought it up on his porch that pushed Daryl into finally braving talking to Jesus about it, like somehow the fact that someone else noticed what was going on made it more real.

Jesus was still a sarcastic little shit after he stopped messing with Daryl’s stuff, of course, but he’s like that with everyone. Now, he greeted Daryl like he did everyone else – no extra-long smirk thrown his direction like when Daryl’s grey duvet had been replaced with a pink one the night before, or when the weird painting of a baby with sunflowers Daryl kept in the attic somehow came to hang over the sink where the mirror had been. Jesus treated him like everyone else, which was good, because that’s exactly what Daryl wanted. When they were having a meeting, Jesus’s eyes no longer sought out his own when someone else said something worthy of a discreet eye roll.

Like now, for instance. They were marking up a map, trying to decide which routes were still good for traveling, and Rick crossed out one back road he and Glenn had taken recently on a supply run. “There were too many walkers along the road and we had to turn around and go a different way. It was a real _dead end_ ,” he said, capping the marker and leaning back in his chair, looking satisfied.

“I’m breaking up with you,” Michonne said flatly as Carl lowered his head on to the table and groaned.

“I thought it was pretty good,” Glenn said, and Maggie swatted him on the back of the head.

Daryl’s eyes automatically flicked over to Jesus, expecting to find those blue-green eyes already looking at him. But Jesus was laughing with Tara, who was sitting right next to him, looking nowhere near Daryl’s side of the table.

“Alright,” Rick said once Michonne stopped threatening to dump him. “According to the chart it’s Daryl and Jesus’s turn for a run, both of you up for that?” Rick asked, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“Sure,” Jesus replied, grin still on his face. Daryl nodded with a grunt.

After the war ended they had set up a system for supply runs, so all those who volunteered were put on rotation instead of having only a few people responsible for scavenging. Daryl and Jesus were paired up a lot. Since Jesus was resourceful and one of their most skilled fighters and Daryl could also hunt, they could safely gather a lot more food and supplies just the two of them than when larger groups went out.

This was the first time they had gone on a run together since Daryl told him to stop messing with him. Daryl felt inexplicably nervous about it. They hadn’t been alone together since then. Daryl had been off doing very important things like hunting and giving his bike a tune up and staring at the wall in his room resolutely not thinking about anyone named Paul.

The next day after the meeting, Daryl woke up early and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror for ten minutes and contemplated getting ready before he realized he had been contemplating for so long that he didn’t have time anymore to get ready. So he threw on the first shirt and jeans he found along with his vest and grabbed his usual backpack for supply runs, heading out the door and towards the gate.

Jesus was already there, leaning against the driver’s side of the car, looking nonchalant in that graceful, easy way he always had about him.

“Ready?” he asked when Daryl was near enough. Daryl just threw his bag in the backseat and slid into the passenger side.

Jesus had a specific place that he wanted to check out, a small cul-de-sac tucked away in one of the suburbs that he thought hadn’t be touched yet. They drove for a while, sitting in silence, until the sun was completely up and they decided to stop and eat breakfast. Jesus pulled over at a gas station that they had already stripped of almost everything useful, but the soda fountain inside still had some drinks left in it.

“I don’t care how flat it is,” Jesus said as he pulled the car up under the metal awning covering the gas pumps. “I need root beer in my mouth more than anyone has ever needed anything before ever.”

He practically sprinted inside. Daryl trailed behind, unzipping his bag to grab the food that he brought. Jesus was filling a styrofoam cup when he entered the store, and when it was full he downed half of it before filling it back up again.

Daryl grabbed a cup for himself and blew the dust off before filling it with Coke. Jesus picked up a few napkins as they headed back outside, where they were greeted with a staggering group of walkers. It was only about a dozen or so, and they were moving slowly and far apart enough that they would be easy to take down, but Daryl still groaned internally.

“Ugh,” Jesus said, voicing his thoughts. He scrunched up his nose as he watched the walkers stumble towards them. “Can we eat first and deal with this later?” he said, as if he was talking about putting off paying the bills and not stabbing a bunch of animated corpses in the head.

They climbed up on top of the metal awning in front of the store – the van they were driving was pretty tall, so they could hop on the roof and climb up fairly easily. They sat down near the edge, and the walkers seemed to have lost track of them now that they were up high. Daryl and Jesus ate in silence for a while, just watching the small group totter around. They seemed confused as to why they had been going to the gas station in the first place, so they just wandered around in front of it instead of moving on.

“Okay, if you had to have sex with one of these walkers, which one would you do?” Jesus asked suddenly.

“ _What?_ ” Daryl almost spit out his drink.

“I’m not saying you _should_ , just if you _had_ to.”

“Why would I _have to_?”

“I don’t know! There’s – a gun being held to Carl’s head and if you don’t do it he dies. Use your imagination.”

“That’s so fucked up.”

“Just pick one.”

“Hell no.”

“I know which one I would choose.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. That guy over there, in the flannel,” Jesus said as he pointed to one of the less-decomposed walkers over in the street. It was aimlessly following another one, who also seemed to be following him back, so the two were hobbling clumsily around in a circle. Daryl wondered what would happen if one of them caught the other, but it seemed like they were content to just amble along an equal distance away from each other for the time being.

“Him?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely. Look at his ass. He’s dead and you could still bounce a quarter off it.”

Daryl rolled his eyes and bit off another chunk of his protein bar.

“If you don’t pick I’m gonna pick one for you.”

“Go ahead,” Daryl replied, gesturing with his drink out at the herd.

“Giving me a lot of power here,” Jesus said as he squinted out at the walkers, his eyes moving across everybody with scrutiny. He tapped his chin with his fingers, thinking hard. He seemed to finally settle on one and he smirked. “Okay, her, over by the lamppost,” he said, pointing. 

She must have been ancient before she died, because now she practically looked like a mummy. What remained of her hair was stringing down her back, and you could see most of her scalp, or what was left of it. One of her arms was missing, and some of her guts were hanging down and staining her old nightgown a gross shade of red-brown.

“That’s your girlfriend,” Jesus laughed.

Daryl rolled his eyes again and lightly elbowed Jesus in his side. “You’re gross.”

Jesus laughed again but didn’t say anything further. Daryl looked back out at the walker Jesus picked for him. She really was fucking horrific – one of the grossest looking walkers with a still mostly-intact body that Daryl had seen.

And she… was a she.

Daryl knew that Jesus probably just picked the ugliest looking one he could find, but the walker was unmistakably female, her long stringy hair resting on her practically caved-in chest and blood-stained nightgown as proof.

And he knew Jesus was gay. He didn’t hide it, and he had spoken about a few exes before. And Daryl was… Daryl didn’t like much of anyone, really. The few people he had ever found himself attracted to were men, but he had never actually said the words _I’m gay_ out loud or inside his head. But it was easier to think about now that the world ended and things like societal norms didn’t matter so much because there was no society anymore, no Merle or Dad to keep him in line with their fucked-up beliefs either.

Staring at the walker’s entrails swinging around as she hobbled about, Daryl wondered if he should just stop kidding himself. He knew in his gut that no one in his family would recoil in disgust or exile him if he was, but his stupid brain wouldn’t stop playing and replaying every horrible rejection and abandonment that could possibly happen.

But maybe it didn’t have to be a big thing. It wasn’t a big thing. It’s not like he sat around having chats about his sexuality with the group every weekend or anything. It didn’t matter to them either way. Maybe he could just… start small. With himself, at least.

“Wouldn’t have picked her,” Daryl said after a moment, voice a low mumble.

Jesus glanced over at him, quirking an eyebrow. “She doesn’t live up to your high standards? It’s the apocalypse, Daryl, don’t be so picky.”

Daryl snorted and shook his head. He took a breath and let it out quietly before he pointed over to the other walker going around in a circle after the one Jesus picked.

Jesus didn’t say anything as he stared at the walker Daryl was pointing to, nor did he glance over at Daryl. He had a thoughtful look on his face as he watched the two stumble around.

“He does have nice hair,” Jesus said after a while. “For a dead guy.”

“Hmm,” Daryl agreed as he finished up his drink and stuffed the last of his protein bar in his mouth. “You ready?” he asked as he stood, crumpling the wrapper in one hand.

Jesus stood up and downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, tilting his head back. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank and Daryl looked away, starting to walk back over to the side of the roof where the car was. A few walkers had been stirred by their movements and started gathering around as Daryl hopped down on top of the car. He heard Jesus behind him, and the other man was at his side the next second after landing gracefully from the short jump. The two unsheathed their knives and made quick work of the walkers thanks to their height advantage, and soon they were climbing down off the roof of the car.

“Aw,” Jesus said as he kicked his foot out at the walker he had chosen earlier, now face down in the concrete.

“Guess it wasn’t meant to be,” Daryl said as he chucked their garbage in a nearby trashcan.

“There goes my only dating prospect,” Jesus lamented. “At least he’s with his friend,” he added as he noticed the one Daryl picked a few feet away, a gaping hole on the side of his head. 

“I’m sure they’re very happy together,” Daryl said as they got back into the car, Jesus behind the wheel. He drove off, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake that settled over the group of motionless walkers as Daryl watched in the side mirror.

 

 

 

They reached the small street Jesus wanted to search after another hour or so of driving. It looked like it was a community that had just started being developed when the dead started rising, and as a result there were only a few surrounding streets with houses. The street they went to looked to be the only one complete, and the only one that had traces of people once living in them.

“Kind of a long shot, but if there’s nothing here we’ll go somewhere else,” Jesus said as they parked and got out of the car.

The first home was practically empty – either no one had lived there before or they had taken everything of use with them. They had better luck with the second one. It was two stories, and after checking every room for walkers they split up, Daryl on the first floor and Jesus on the second. Daryl found trash bags under the sink and filled a couple with all the food that was still good before walking around to the check all the cabinets.

In the time it took Daryl to check all the rooms for anything useful and take several trips to the car to throw everything in the trunk, Jesus hadn’t come downstairs once. Daryl climbed the stairs, figuring he was just piling everything up and needed help carrying it all down to the car. But when he reached the second story, there weren’t any stacks of supplies anywhere. In fact, it looked like Jesus hadn’t even been through any of the rooms.

Daryl went down to the room at the end of the hall. The door was halfway open, and when he reached the frame he saw Jesus sitting on the bed, his back to Daryl. He had a book open in his lap. Daryl could see a quarter of Jesus’s face, and his eyes were moving across the words on the page slowly.

Daryl watched him for a minute before speaking up. “Thought we were here for supplies, not story time,” he grunted out. Jesus jumped, startled, and he turned around to look at Daryl.

“Sorry,” he said, sheepish. He snapped the book shut and turned it over in his hands.

“What is that?” Daryl said, nodding at the book in Jesus’s grip.

“Oh, uhm,” Jesus started, looking even more sheepish. “It’s this lady’s diary.”

“You’re reading some dead lady’s diary?” Daryl asked. He pushed off the doorframe he had been leaning on and entered into the room. He circled around the bed and sat down next to Jesus.

“Hey, we don’t know if she’s dead,” Jesus said as Daryl sat. “And it’s pretty good, actually. She’s one of the better writers I’ve read so far.”

“You’ve been… readin' people’s diaries,” Daryl intoned.

“I’ve been trying to take them with me whenever we check houses,” Jesus said. “Most of the time I don’t find any kind of journal, but I’ve been getting lucky the last few times.”

Daryl took the book out of Jesus’s hands. It was simple and black, with a hard cover and a place to keep a pen. Daryl had always associated writing in diaries as an activity for children, but this was clearly the journal of an adult. He flipped open the cover and there was no _property of so-and-so_ declared on the first page to warn off others from reading. The writing was long and tall, some of the letters looping together in a kind of print-cursive hybrid.

“Why are you takin' them?” Daryl asked, looking over at Jesus.

He shrugged. “First I was just reading them out of curiosity. People used to live here, they had lives here, and even though we’re rifling through their stuff and taking what we need I wanted to know about who they were. But then I thought, well, there are always books published after wars of people’s diaries or whatever. War journals. Stuff put out to show the effects of fighting and tragedy had on people, that kind of stuff.”

Jesus looked down in his lap, picking at a loose string on his pants. He glanced briefly over at Daryl before looking back down and continuing. “And I thought… I don’t know. Maybe if I had all these journals sitting around, if this thing ever ends, or gets better, or anything, I could… publish them, or something. Or if I’m not around, they’d still be here and someone else could. Just to, you know, remind us that walkers were human once and they had lives and memories and relationships, and… yeah.”

He shrugged again as he finished, and Daryl realized that he was witnessing Paul Rovia feeling _shy_ for once in his life. He didn’t really know what to do with that. Daryl was the shy one in this relationship, and Jesus was the one who kicked his feet under the table enough until Daryl paid attention to him. Or he used to, at least.

Daryl shut the journal and handed it back over. “What’d she write about?” he asked as Jesus slid it from his fingers.

“She had just gotten a divorce,” Jesus explained, opening to a page and flipping around. “Moved here recently with her teenage daughter, Cara, just the two of them. Apparently Cara was taking the split pretty hard, and also her ex is, and I quote,” he scanned the page he was on before pointing to a certain line. “ _A giant fucking prolapsed asshole who deserves to get his dick eaten off by rats while burning in the ninth circle of hell_.”

Daryl raised his eyebrows. “Shit,” he said, impressed. “I take it back, no way she ain’t still alive.”

Jesus laughed. “I bet she is,” he said, closing the book. He looked over at Daryl, holding his gaze, the traces of his laugh still on his face.

Daryl turned away and stood up after a moment, coughing. “Can we actually check the rooms up here now, Shakespeare?”

Jesus rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you take the daughter’s room and I’ll go through here,” he suggested, sticking the journal in one of the pockets inside his jacket.

Daryl crossed the hall over to the other bedroom. It looked like a typical teenage girl’s bedroom (or what he imagined to be a typical teenage girl’s bedroom, since he had never really been in one). Posters on the wall, books on the desk, nail polish and make up on her dresser. He took some of the clothes out of the dresser and stacked up her textbooks, deciding to let Jesus sort through the rest of the literature since he seemed to know what was good and what wasn’t. Daryl went through more of her drawers, clearing them out before moving to the closet.

It looked like mostly junk – he took a few of her shoes that were more practical, but it was a lot of dusty art projects and old papers from school. There was a box sitting on the shelf up top that he had to stand on his toes to reach, and when he finally got it he underestimated how heavy it was, and it came crashing down on his head before hitting the ground with a loud thump.

“Fuck,” he swore. He heard hurried footsteps coming down the hall.

“Daryl?” Jesus called, a note of urgency in his voice as he came running into the room.

The sight that greeted him was Daryl, covered in really dry paint and glitter and feathers and pipe cleaners and what was possibly the worst smelling glue in the whole world. Jesus just stared at the mess, most of which had landed on Daryl’s hair, a huge smile slowly spreading over his face before he couldn’t hold it in any longer and laughter burst out of him.

“Yeah, yeah,” Daryl grumbled as he started to swipe all the stuff off. Luckily, the paint and glue were so old and dry that they flaked right off, but he would probably have glitter on him for years to come.

“I’ve never been this happy,” Jesus said, his smile wide as he laughed over at Daryl.

Daryl glared as he got the last pipe cleaner out from behind his ear, mostly clean now except for a few flecks of red paint that he would have to take a shower to get off.

Jesus was still laughing as he crossed the room and began sorting through the books on her desk, making piles to take and to keep. Daryl looked at him out of the corner of his eye. He was surprised that Jesus had let it go that quickly – usually he would have been teased for at least the rest of the run, if not the rest of the week. Daryl thought maybe with the whole “which walker would you fuck” thing Jesus had let go of Daryl’s _don’t mess with me anymore_ warning, but apparently he was taking it to heart.

They cleared the upstairs faster than Daryl did the downstairs since it was the two of them, and before long they were moving on to the other houses. Only a few of them were useful, but they still packed the car to the brim before calling it a day and taking off back home. 

Jesus didn’t even have a comment when Daryl opened the window to let the hot air out and a gust of wind caused a cloud of glitter to fall onto the car floor. He just grinned and kept his eyes on the road.

Daryl stared out the window and tried not to wonder why he felt like he was missing something.

 

 

 

They got home right as the sun went down, and Jesus dropped Daryl off at his house with a wave before driving the car over to Olivia’s house to be inventoried in the morning. Daryl shrugged his bag off and let it drop next to the couch before going into the kitchen for some water.

He downed a glass and filled up another, leaning back against the counter. The only light he had turned on was the light above the stove, and his house was dark and still and quiet. As he slowly drank his mind went over the events of the way. Eating breakfast on top of the metal awning, all they found inside the houses, Jesus taking the diary, Jesus sprinting into the room the moment he thought Daryl was hurt, the sinking feeling Daryl had in his gut when Jesus didn’t poke fun at him for making a mess.

Daryl grabbed a pack of cigarettes off the counter, suddenly needing one. He reached in his pocket for his lighter, and –

It wasn’t there.

He patted down his clothes and scanned around the room, but it wasn’t there. He grabbed the backpack he took along for the run and searched through all the pockets and it wasn’t there either. He retraced the steps that he took once he came through the front door, then went to the bathroom, the bedroom, through the living room and to the kitchen, and it wasn’t anywhere.

Jesus must have taken it.

Here’s the thing – Daryl knew he wasn’t fucking special. He was just some redneck asshole whose life sucked enough before the apocalypse that dead people walking around was almost like a breath of fresh air. He knew that he would be friends with absolutely none of the people in their family before the world went to shit, but he’s lucky that he’s skilled enough at fighting and survival that they needed to keep him around long enough for them to _want_ to keep him around. He’s not particularly nice, or friendly, or good-looking, and he didn’t want to be treated like he was, like he’s something special, someone worth appreciating. For the most part, he just wanted to fade into the background.

But with his hand in his pocket closing around empty air where the familiar weight of his lighter should be, his thoughts hit him like a ton of bricks. Daryl had always craved friendship and affection and family and kindness, but he shrunk away and closed himself off any time anyone actually gave him those things. It was weird and hard and uncomfortable when Rick called him his brother, or when Michonne teased him, or when Carol kissed him on the forehead, or when Carl looked up to him, or when Beth hugged him from behind, her head between the wings on his vest. He so desperately wanted to be that person, speak that social language that everyone seemed to be fluent in except him, to see himself how they see him. But he’s got forty years of shit to unlearn, and – he was trying. He’ll pat Rick on the back, or bring Carol into a hug, or tease Michonne right back with Carl. He was trying.

And maybe… maybe he didn’t want to fade into the background with Jesus. Maybe he wanted to listen to Jesus whisper snide comments into his ear during meetings. Maybe he wanted Jesus to continue bringing him stupid books that reminded him of Daryl. Maybe he didn’t want Jesus to treat him like everyone else, like he was Rick or Glenn or Sasha because he _wasn’t_ Rick or Glenn or Sasha. And maybe that was okay. He was Daryl, and they were Jesus and Daryl, and Jesus messed with Daryl and went on runs with Daryl and fought alongside Daryl and pranked Daryl and flirted with Daryl and why wouldn’t he want to be a part of Jesus and Daryl?

Because he was scared.

Because he would fuck it up. Because he wasn’t good at this shit. Because one of them would die. Because Daryl would try and end up alone anyways.

Daryl checked again. His lighter still wasn’t in his pocket.

Fuck it.

He ripped open his front door and heard it bang against the wall as he jumped down the steps and stalked across the street. Adrenaline surged through his body and he could feel his heart beating in his ears and he felt like his stomach was about to fall out of his ass but he kept walking, his eyes fixed determinedly on Jesus’s front door straight ahead. Even though the walk was short, just a few seconds, he was breathing hard by the time he climbed up the porch steps and reached the door. He banged on Jesus’s front door, his fist clenched so hard his knuckles were white. He would probably give Jesus a heart attack and attract all the surrounding walkers to the walls with the noise, but he kept banging until the door was wrenched open and Jesus stood before him.

“Everything okay?” Jesus asked, his face looking like he was expecting news of an attack or a herd of walkers or drowned kittens or something equally terrible.

“Did you take my lighter?” Daryl blurted out.

Jesus blinked. “What? No.”

Jesus’s words hit Daryl in the chest and settled in his gut like cold gust of wind. He was wrong, he was wrong, Jesus didn’t care and Daryl should have stayed in his kitchen and shut his stupid feelings inside of himself, next to where he kept his untouched thoughts about his mom and Merle and Beth and just gone to sleep and now Jesus was just staring at him standing on his front porch with his too greasy hair and his fucked up back with the scars that seemed to burn holes in every shirt he wore and he needed to get the fuck out of there now.

“Never mind,” Daryl mumbled and turned to leave.

“Wait, Daryl,” Jesus said just as Daryl reached the steps. Daryl turned around, and Jesus was looking at him with a bemused expression, like he didn’t know if he should be concerned with Daryl’s agitated state or not. When Daryl met his gaze, he held it for a few moments before asking, “Do you wanna come in?”

Daryl stared, skeptical. Okay, so Jesus was going to let him down gently now, which made sense, because Jesus was one of the nicest people on the planet. But Daryl didn’t know if he could handle a whole rejection speech – he had never been in an actual relationship before, and he didn’t want to hear _it’s not you, it’s me_ coming from the mouth of the first person he actually maybe really wanted to try with.

But Jesus was looking at him with his stupid huge blue-green eyes, and, well.

Daryl shuffled back up the stairs and past Jesus into the foyer. He suddenly didn’t know what the hell to do with his arms – how did he normally stand? With his arms crossed? At his sides? And his hands felt too big for his wrists, like they were weighing him down. He lifted one up to bite at his thumb nail.

Jesus closed the door behind him and moved in front of Daryl. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked, trying to catch Daryl’s eye, but he was too busy being focused on his very important nail biting.

_No_ , Daryl almost blurted out, but he managed to stop himself. He did, Daryl never wanted to talk about anything but he did now, wanted to know why Jesus stopped messing with him when Daryl was just starting to figure out why he didn’t want Jesus to ever stop messing with him.

“Why’d you stop?” Daryl said after a few moments. The words seem to hang in the air between them – the inside of Jesus’s house was dark, most of the lights off except for a low one in the kitchen, and the only noise coming from outside was the cicadas, almost everyone else in Alexandria asleep by now.

“Why did I stop what?” Jesus asked. Daryl wasn’t sure if he was playing dumb to get him to talk more – probably, since the only thing Daryl had asked him to stop doing recently was pranking him.

“Stop… movin’ my arrows, and lookin’ at me durin meetings, and givin’ me stupid books, and stealin’ my lighter.” Daryl forced himself to stop listing things, and Jesus was staring at him like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

“Because you asked me to?” he said, genuinely confused.

“I asked you to stop messin’ with my stuff, not…” _paying attention to me_ , Daryl sighed. Even though that’s basically what he asked Jesus to do. If Present Daryl could go back in time and punch Past Daryl in the mouth, he would.

Jesus was still looking at him, waiting for him to continue. Daryl would honestly rather take on a herd of walkers with only a knit scarf to defend himself than admit he was sad that Jesus wasn’t paying him enough attention, but it was looking like the only way out of this conversation was by being a Mature Adult and talking about his _feelings_.

“Maybe I realized I don’t want you to stop,” Daryl mumbled, like if the words were quiet enough Jesus wouldn’t hear them and this whole conversation would cease to exist and Daryl would wake up from this nightmare and move on with his life.

Jesus looked stunned, like someone had just told him zombie Paul McCartney was playing a free concert outside instead of Daryl admitting he missed Jesus annoying the crap out of him every day.

“Are you saying you… _like_ … me pranking you?” Jesus asked carefully, like he was sounding out every word in his head before saying it out loud so as to not spook Daryl.

It didn’t work. “Never mind,” Daryl said again, turning to leave this conversation and this house and possibly Alexandria and the whole planet entirely. Daryl didn’t like Jesus. Daryl didn’t like anything. Daryl didn’t like feelings or blue-green eyes or guys with dumb beards or leather outerwear or crossbows or motorcycles because liking things was stupid and he was just going to go sit in his room alone for the rest of his life and bask in his superiority for not liking things.

Jesus grabbed his arm though, the prick. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, tugging Daryl back from the door which led to freedom. “Daryl, wait,” and he sounded like he was trying not to laugh, what the fuck?

“ _What_ ,” Daryl said, trying to shake Jesus off his arm.

“Daryl,” Jesus said, and moved his hand from Daryl’s arm up to cup his cheek.

“Daryl,” and suddenly his face was close to Daryl’s, when did that happen? And he was looking at Daryl like – like he really wanted to look at Daryl.

“Daryl,” he said again, quieter this time and god, Jesus really needed to stop saying his name like that. 

“Paul,” Daryl murmured, just because he felt like he needed something to say. He didn’t know what was happening and Jesus was so close and he kind of wanted to shove him away and run and pull him even closer at the same time.

Jesus’s nose bumped his. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

So that’s what was happening. Daryl hadn’t ever even really _kissed_ someone – a few times when he was a kid, a few times on a dare, a few times when he was drunk but never actually kissed someone he really, really wanted to kiss and god, this was uncharted fucking territory. Daryl couldn’t even begin to comprehend how someone could just – just _ask_ to _kiss_ someone else. Putting yourself out there, making yourself vulnerable like that just seemed huge, monumental, colossal. It was too much, this was too much and Jesus must be playing some trick on him again, there must be firecrackers in a trashcan somewhere that would go off at any second and then all of Alexandria would pop out and laugh at him because that seemed way more likely than Jesus asking Daryl if he could kiss him.

But here was Jesus, asking.

Maybe it wasn’t so complicated.

Maybe he liked Jesus. Maybe Jesus liked him. Maybe it was that easy.

Daryl looked into Jesus’s eyes. No firecrackers went off.

He nodded, slight and small and barely there, but he nodded.

Jesus held his gaze for a moment longer before leaning in. Daryl closed his eyes, and then Jesus’s mouth was on his, soft and nice and a little pushy, just like him. At first it was just the press of his lips against Daryl’s, which, yes, okay, this Daryl could definitely do. But then Jesus started moving his mouth and Daryl’s brain sort of short-circuited. He tried to keep up, he did, but doing something you hadn’t done a lot when your brain felt like a fuzzy pile of socks didn’t lead to great motor function. Jesus didn’t seem to mind, though, and he had Daryl’s bottom lip between his own. The movement of his mouth was easy and unhurried, like he wanted Daryl to get somewhere and was just gently nudging him towards the destination.

Something that felt this nice couldn’t be scary, and neither could Jesus. Daryl finally stopped thinking altogether and just felt – felt Jesus’s mouth against his, when he exhaled out of his nose and his breath hit Daryl’s check, his hands, one cupping his jaw and the other in his hair. Daryl moved his clammy, too-big hands and put one on Jesus’s waist, the other on the back of his head. His hair was soft. Jesus seemed to take his movements as some sort of invitation to slip his tongue in Daryl’s mouth, so he did, and Daryl let him.

And maybe – maybe he could do this if Jesus showed him how. Maybe he didn’t have to avoid Jesus for three days anymore after saying something stupid because maybe what he said wasn’t stupid. Maybe Jesus didn’t have to play pranks to get Daryl to pay attention to him because Daryl was already paying attention to him. Maybe Daryl didn’t have to second-guess someone else actually liking him – he would, still, but Jesus would be there to convince him otherwise.

“Okay,” Jesus said when he pulled away, resting his forehead against Daryl’s. “I did steal your lighter.”

Daryl swatted him gently on the back of the head. “Prick.”

“I thought you were giving me a signal when we were on the roof, so I swiped it, but then when I opened the door just now you seemed pissed, so I lied,” he explained. He pulled back a few more inches so he could look Daryl in the eye. “You’re not pissed, right?”

“I’m a little pissed,” Daryl said.

“Okay, but like, I-want-to-dangle-him-over-a-pit-of-walkers pissed or oh-he’s-so-cute-I-want-to-kiss-him-again-to-shut-him-up pissed?”

“I regret this already,” Daryl sighed.

“I seem to recall someone just a few minutes ago saying they liked it when I messed with them,” Jesus retorted, his eyes practically twinkling.

Daryl really did want to kiss him again, but he wasn’t quite there yet, so he just stared and hoped Jesus would take the initiative. He did.

While Jesus was distracted, Daryl reached into his pocket and lifted his lighter out. He tapped Jesus lightly on the side of the head with it, and Jesus pulled away, laughing.

“You need one of those right now?” he asked, but Daryl had left the pack back in his kitchen.

“Nah,” he said, dropping the lighter in his vest pocket.

“Alright,” Jesus said, leaning in to kiss him again. “There’s whiskey,” he murmured into Daryl’s mouth.

“Lead the way,” Daryl replied, but it took them a few more minutes before either of them moved.

They sat on the bench on the back porch, where Jesus had been when Daryl told him to knock it off. Jesus laughed when more glitter fell out of Daryl’s hair, and he asked Daryl if he really was a fan of Madonna. Daryl just elbowed him hard but Jesus didn’t let it go, even when their conversation eventually drifted to different subjects. Every time Daryl rolled his eyes, Jesus would lean over and kiss him with a smirk, as if saying, _you’re the one who wanted this_.

Yeah. He really fucking did.

Weeks later, when Jesus was going to go on a supply run without Daryl that day, Daryl woke up with Jesus’s mouth on his neck and his hand on his waist. Jesus got ready thirty minutes later as Daryl was blissed out, but he managed to drag himself out the bed to see him off at the gate. As he was walking back to his house, he reached into his pocket for a cigarette. When he had one between his teeth, he went back for his lighter, but it wasn’t there. Daryl grinned and took the cigarette out of his mouth, placing it back in the pack with the others. He would just have one later, when Paul came home.

**Author's Note:**

> please come yell at me about these two on [tumblr](http://agentdrew.tumblr.com)


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